


Well, Fuck Me Thrice

by CaptainCapsicoul



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Blow Jobs, Firefighter!Bucky, Locked Out!AU, M/M, Masturbation, Pole Dancing, Rimming, Skinny!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5530421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainCapsicoul/pseuds/CaptainCapsicoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 4th of July weekend and Steve gets locked out. The NYPD and FDNY show up, and of course, the hot firefighter has his fly open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well, Fuck Me Thrice

**Author's Note:**

> For [z-delenda-est](http://z-delenda-est.tumblr.com) for the Stucky Secret Santa 2015! Hope you enjoy :)
> 
> I have been working on this story on and off since the summer and was inspired by real life events (read: getting locked out over 4th of July Weekend).
> 
> Come join me on tumblr: [ithewhimsy](http://ithewhimsy.tumblr.com)! I do lots of yelling about stucky, steggy, the martian, and all things marvel

“Steve, where are you man? We were supposed to meet like half an hour ago!”

“I know, Sam,” Steve says, tucking his phone between his ear and shoulder. “I’m sorry, I got caught up with this commission. I’m leaving now.”

Steve lets the phone drop onto the comforter of his bed while he hops around trying to find his other shoe. On his way, he grabs his inhaler, extra hearing-aid batteries (don’t remind him of the time he ran out at Yosemite and had to go to the Ansel Adams museum to get more), and his sketchbook. He finds his missing shoe under the couch and he plops himself down to lace them up.

Stuffing everything into a bag, Steve checks his level of dishevelment before going to open the door.

“Shit, my phone,” he mutters to himself, dropping his bag and going to the bedroom. He grabs his phone and finally leaves his apartment. It’s hot in the stairwell, some air conditioning seeping out from other tenant’s units, but it’s stifling.

Steve starts going down the stairs when he realizes he forgot money. He returns to his door and rummages around his bag for his keys. “Well fuck me in the ass,” he says as he remembers his keys sitting on the front hall table. He had gone out of town for the Fourth of July and realized his door was unlocked from the outside. When he was leaving for his trip, he made sure that no one could get in without a key. Now it’s coming back to bite him in the behind.

Peggy lives downstairs, but she’s in England for the week. _“Didn’t want to be in this treasonous country for the day you all sprout eagle wings and sing_ My Country, ‘Tis of Thee _to the tune of_ God Save the Queen.” Steve had rolled his eyes at her, knowing she was completely joking. She was a citizen of the United States, but she never stopped making fun of Americans.

Steve thinks about Bruce, who lives upstairs, but realizes that he had meant to give Bruce a key to his apartment, but never got around to it.

Natasha has a copy of his key, but she lives 30 minutes away and is also away for the holiday weekend.

Steve _thinks_ Sharon has his key, but she doesn’t pick up the phone when he calls. He doesn’t leave a message.

“Well fuck me twice.”

He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Sam.

**_[5:34] locked myself out. no one’s around. calling the police._ **

He gets a reply pretty quick.

**_[5:35] shit man. no rush, take your time._ **

Steve looks at his phone, thanking the heavens that he remembered to bring it. He quickly googles the number of the non-emergency police line.

“NYPD, how can I help you?” the operator says, sounding bored. It’s hot and a holiday weekend. Who can blame him?

“Hi, my name is Steven Rogers. I live at 166 Montague Street, second unit and I’ve locked myself out.”

“Please hold.”

Some stupid music starts playing and Steve pulls out his hearing aids so he doesn’t have to listen.

“Sir?” the operator asks.

“Yes?” replies Steve, fumbling with his hearing aids to put them back in. They start whistling at a high pitch.

“You say you’re locked out?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s your name?”

“Sorry?” Steve asks, trying to get the whistling to stop.

“Your name, sir.”

“Steven Rogers.”

“And is there a telephone number we can reach you at?”

“Yes, I’m in the second unit. Did you ask what number?”

The operator sounds mildly frustrated. “Do you have a number we can reach you at?” he asks again.

“Yes!” Steve says, a little louder than necessary. His hearing aids really just won’t cooperate. He rattles off his number and the operator tells him someone will be by soon. Steve hangs up and bangs his head against the wall.

He feels sweat bead at his temples. It’s really too hot for this. He pulls at his loose shirt, which is starting to stick to him. He looks down at his phone and slides to unlock it.

**_[5:43] called the police. they’re on their way. meet you ASAP_ **

While he’s waiting for a response from Sam, he opens his xkit app, checking on his blog. He runs a semi-popular blog, clocking in at around 500 followers. He’s only been doing this for a few months, and he knows there are people who have thousands of followers. He checks his inbox, and since starting to write for that imagine blog, he always seems to have messages waiting for him to claim if he wants.

_Imagine chris evans running into Sebastian stan and totally fangirling over meeting his favorite actor. Bonus points if there’s sexy time in it._

He thinks about it, hovering over the chat bubble icon. _Why the hell not_ , he thinks to himself. It’s not like he has anything else to do this summer (note: he completely and absolutely does have other things to do. Not to mention the growing pile of commissions, he also is in the heart of his Master’s program at NYU. So yes, he has lots of other things to do). He puts his name and the date he’s expected to fill it by and closes the app. Normally, he’d scroll through his dash until the police came, but there’s fandom drama, and he really just can’t handle. Something about a leaked scene and everyone is going crazy.

Steve wipes the trickle of sweat near his glasses and makes his way downstairs so he can meet the police officers whenever they arrive. He leans his head against the glass door to his apartment building, relishing in the cool glass on his overheated forehead. He watches as cars go by his street, hoping it’s the police car. He’s really too hot and it’s making his lungs hurt.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, an NYPD squad car pulls up in front of his building. The cop gets out and asks him for an ID. He fishes out his driver’s license, thanking the lord that he’d thought to stick it in his pants pocket. Why he couldn’t have grabbed some money while he was at it was lost to him. If he’d done that, then he wouldn’t be in this mess.

While Steve and the cop are talking, a fire engine must have pulled up and stopped out of his line of sight. He was surprised to see four firefighters walking towards his building.

“You the one who locked yourself out?” asks the first firefighter. He’s wearing a heavy coat even though it’s nearing 90 degrees.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Second unit, I’ll show you.”

He leads the firefighters up the stairs, noting that one of the four remained outside, one stayed at the bottom of the stairs, and two follow him to his door. The sudden rush of people has him slightly overwhelmed and he really only notices the older firefighter.

When they get to his unit, Steve steps aside and takes a minute to observe the other firefighters who came into his building.

 _Well fuck me thrice_ , he thinks, his eyes falling on the most gorgeous guy he’s even seen in his life. He’s tall and muscular with piercing eyes and brown hair that’s pulled into a low bun. Some wisps had escaped and lay framing his five o’clock shadow. His hair is matted slightly from the heat. He’s got a cleft chin, and a striking jawline. If Steve we’re so physically warm, he’d definitely be working much harder to not pop a boner.

Steve lets his eyes travel down the firefighter’s muscular chest to his heavy pants which are held up by suspenders. He swallows thickly when he sees the fly dangling open. Granted, the man is wearing another set of pants (seriously, how is he not dying of heat?), but it’s enough for Steve’s mouth to run dry.

 _Yes,_ he thinks. _Fuck me thrice._

*

“Any threes?” Clint asks.

“Go fish,” Bucky replies.

“Fuck man, when did we become such clichés?”

“When you decided that you wanted to play Go Fish because ‘the youth these days can’t get off their fucking devices so we’re gonna play a good ol’ game of cards.’”

“Well that was dumb of me,” Clint says, throwing down his cards. “I’m bored. And it’s hot as balls.”

“At least we have air conditioning.”

“Why do they make our uniforms so heavy?”

“Quit your whining, Clint,” Bucky says, exasperated. “And I believe it’s so we don’t die when we go into literal burning buildings.”

“Fires should be illegal in the summer.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Where’d you learn such a big word, Mr. Smarty-pants?” Clint asks, a smile tugging at his lips.

“That old lady whose cat got stuck in the tree last week.”

Clint opens his mouth to respond, but they’re interrupted by the door opening. “Let’s go gentlemen, we’ve got a call.”

Chairs scrape as Clint and Bucky put away the cards and collect their belongings. The alarms aren’t going off, so it’s not an emergency. Bucky takes the stairs, but Clint still slides down the pole.

“You’re such a child,” Bucky says, climbing in Engine No. 9.

“That’s me,” Clint replies, buckling his seatbelt.

“All right, boys, let’s go.”

“So what’s the sitch, boss?” Clint asks, turning the air conditioning vent towards his face.

“Got a call from a guy who locked himself out of his house.”

“You’re shitting me, Coulson,” Bucky says, putting his feet on the dash.

Coulson swats at Bucky’s legs, knocking them off the car. “How many times have I told you, feet off the dash! And no, poor guy locked himself out. It’ll be in and out.”

“Why can’t the NYPD just take care of this? I don’t know why they need an entire _Engine_ to help with this situation,” Clint complains. He’s really a great guy…just not in the heat.

“I dunno boys, but here we are. Let’s just get this over with. We’ll stop for Starbucks after.”

Coulson leads the way, greeting guy who got locked out. Bucky doesn’t hear a world of what’s being said, because all he can think about is how fucking beautiful that man is. He’s small and hot and has a great ass. Bucky doesn’t even know his name. Clint knows he has a proclivity towards skinny boys, and this guy is the skinniest, prettiest boy Bucky has ever seen. He’s wearing a stylish shirt that hangs a bit low so Bucky can see a collarbone jutting out, creating the most tantalizing hollow at the base of his throat. His waist is trim and his legs seem to go on for miles in their skinny jeans.

“Thank you, really,” Cute Guy says, bringing Bucky back into the present.

“It’s our job, sir,” Coulson answers, continuing to jiggle the do-not-disturb sign. It’s always amazed Bucky how easy it is to break into someone’s house if you just know how. They all went through training at the Academy.

Bucky leans against the railing of the staircase, letting his hips jut out a little more than necessary. He’s glad he didn’t do up the Velcro on his fire pants. I mean, who would? It’s 90 fucking degrees out, and those pants are heavy. He feels a trickle of sweat catch on his collar. It’s too hot for this shit.

He hears the telltale _click_ of the door opening. He’s slightly disappointed because he’s probably never going to see Cute Guy ever again. Bucky shakes his head. _You’re being ridiculous_ , he tells himself.

Cute Guy darts into his apartment to grab his keys while Coulson and Bucky make their way downstairs.

“Was it an easy one?” asks Clint.

“Easy enough,” Coulson answers. “Barnes here couldn’t keep his eyes of Mr. Rogers.”

Clint gives Bucky The Eyes. “Oooh, does Bucky have a crush?”

“No, idiot. Now I was promised Starbucks?” Bucky retorts, sticking out his tongue.

They traipse into the sunlight and walk around the corner to where there’s a Starbucks and a Peet’s right next to each other. Bucky’s ordering his Starbucks when a deep voice interrupts him.

“Excuse me, I’m going to pay for these gentlemen.”

Bucky whips around to see the beautiful man standing between him and Clint. There’s at least a head of height between them, a comical sight to anyone around.

“I’m sorry?” asks the barista, whose hand is poised over the trenta cup.

“I’m going to pay for these gentlemen,” Cute Guy responds. “They just got be out of a tight situation, and I’d like to thank them.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Bucky says, regaining his voice. He’s met with the most defiant, deepest blue eyes he’d ever seen.

“Yes I do,” he demands, shoving his phone in front of the pay-scanner. “You guys broke into my apartment; I need to repay you.”

Clint smiles and moves down the bar to where they’ll pick up their drinks. “Thanks.”

Bucky follows, definitely _not_ staring at the way Cute Guy’s ass swells perfectly in his tight jeans.

“What do you say, Bucky?” Clint taunts.

Bucky’s eyes snap back to Cute Guy’s face, blushing as he catches the knowing look in Cute Guy’s eyes.

“Uh, thank you,” he says eloquently.

Cute Guy flashes a bright smile at Bucky, his eyes lighting up. “No problem,” he replies. “I’m Steve.” He holds out his hand. Bucky reaches and shakes Cute Guy’s – _Steve’s_ – hand, feeling the strong grip tighten around his hand.

“Bucky,” Bucky introduces.

“Trenta iced caramel macchiato, extra shot, extra caramel, extra whip!” the barista calls, placing a monstrosity on the bar.

Steve raises his eyebrows as Bucky takes the heart-attack-in-a-cup (thanks, Clint) and wraps his lips around the straw, glancing at Steve under his eyelashes.

“Don’t hate on it ‘till you’ve tried it,” Bucky says, holding it out so Steve could take a sip.

“Sorry, but that would literally kill me.”

Bucky tilts his head, questioningly.

“Allergic to dairy and diabetic. That would be my literal death.”

Clint barks out a laugh while Bucky stares at Steve with wide eyes. “What do you eat on your pizza? Or on your pasta? How do you live without _cheese_?”

“There are lots of great vegan options around here. Also, cheese-less pizza is surprisingly good. As for pasta...you’ve got me there.”

Bucky looks personally offended as he takes the next sip of his drink.

“Hey listen,” Steve starts, beginning to look a little awkward. “I told my friend I’d meet up with him after I got my apartment stuff sorted out, so uh…I was wondering if you two might like to join?”

“We’d love to, but we’re still on duty for another—” Bucky starts.

“I get it,” Steve interrupts. “It was a long shot. No worries, thanks again for letting me back into my home. Uh…have a great day, I suppose.” Steve backs away and turns on his heel, leaving the Starbucks.

*

 _Stupid, Rogers_ , Steve thinks as he makes his way down the sidewalk. _Of course they’re on duty…that’s why they came to your door_. Steve sighs and pulls out his phone.

 ** _[6:51] on my way. see you soon_**.

He shoves it back in his pocket and reaches his hand out to hail a cab. Just as he’s got his hand on the door handle, he hears voices calling to him. He turns around to see Bucky and his friend running down the street, looking like quite the spectacle, still in their firemen outfits.

The cabbie honks his horn impatiently, and Steve pats the roof twice, letting him know he can move on. Tires squeal as the cabbie pulls back into traffic.

“Bucky!” Steve says, surprised.

“After you left, Clint hit me until I went and asked Coulson if we could take off, since the city is pretty dead right now. Someone musta slipped him a jolly pill or something, because he said—”

“Yes!” the other man, Clint, interjects. “Coulson said we could have the afternoon off, as long as we keep our beepers on us in case they need us. We can’t go far from the station, but we don’t have to stay there.” Clint is practically vibrating in excitement.

“Oh wow, that’s awesome!” Steve exclaims. He’s excited that he has more time with Bucky. “Let me just tell Sam that he should meet us somewhere near you. We were planning on getting an early dinner…well now I suppose, a regularly timed dinner…, so do you know any good places for a burger near your station?”

“Yeah, there’s one across the street. Clint and I have to go back anyway so we can change into civvies. Why don’t you have Sam meet us there. Across from Fire Station 47. You can get a ride with us and hang out until we’re all ready.”

Steve is practically swept up by Bucky and Clint and nearly dragged back to their engine.

“Hello again,” the third fireman says, as Steve comes up to the truck. “I’m Coulson.”

“Hello sir. Thanks for breaking into my apartment earlier.”

“Not a problem. So I hear you’re the one who’s stealing my men for the afternoon,” Coulson says, his face hard.

Steve blanches. “I’m sorry, sir. I thought they cleared it with you.”

“Not to worry, kid,” the Captain answers, face breaking into a smile. “They did. And it’s completely fine with me, as long as they’re close enough to respond if need be. But the afternoon should be quiet. You’re our first call since last night.”

Steve nods curtly as he’s shuttled into the truck. He does his best to not let his face heat up when he has trouble hopping up into the seat. So sue him…his skinny jeans don’t have the most give. They’re made for style, not service.

Once everyone’s settled, Steve pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Sam.

**_[6:58] change of plans. meet at the burger place across from fire station 47. long story. explain when we get there. c u soon_ **

Shoving his phone back in his pocket, Steve stares out the window while Bucky and Clint sing along to the radio.

They arrive at the station, and Steve is ushered to a table in the kitchen. There are cards splayed as if they had been hastily forgotten.

“Sorry if I made you guys cuts your game short,” Steve says, as he accepts a glass of cool water.

“No worries. Clint here wanted to play Go Fish, but we all got bored and were thankful for your call,” Bucky explains. “Just give us one sec. We’ll be out in a minute.”

Steve’s left alone as Bucky and Clint disappear behind a door that presumably was where their stuff was. Steve looks around, taking an immediate liking to the hominess of the small kitchen. He’s getting a refill of water when his phone buzzes.

**_[7:20] okay man, i’m here. where r u?_ **

Steve taps Sam’s icon and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hey Steve-o,” Sam greets.

“Hiya Sam. We’re at the station. Bucky and Clint are getting dressed and we’ll be over in a minute. Grab us a table, will you?”

“Already done, man. I’ll order us a coupl’a beers.”

“Sounds great. Whatever’s on tap. You know what I like.”

“Sure thing. See you soon.”

Steve ends the call just as the door opens. If he thought Bucky was attractive in his heavy fireman pants, he has no idea what to think when Bucky comes into the kitchen wearing snug jeans and a well-worn Henley. He looks positively snuggly, and Steve just wants to curl up on a couch with him and watch movies. Steve can’t help but notice how the Henley stretches over Bucky’s shoulder muscles and outlines his abs beautifully.

“Was that Sam?” Bucky asks, running a hand through his hair. He had redone his bun, but strands fell loose when he pulls his hand away.

“Yeah, he’s getting us a table and some beer on tap.”

“I like this guy already,” Clint says, sticking his wallet in his pocket. “Wanna slide down the pole?”

“Gee, buy me some dinner first before asking me to get all close and personal with your pole, Clint,” Steve jests. He sees how Bucky’s cheeks flush red and eyes darken. Steve’s breath hitches as Bucky leans into whisper in his ear.

“I’ll show you up close and personal with that pole,” he whispers, hot breath washing over Steve’s ear. He does his best to hide the shiver that runs through his body. Bucky winks and saunters towards the stairs, hopping onto the banister and sliding down.

Steve follows in a more conventional fashion, trying to get his body to figure out its emotions. They wave to Coulson as they pass and cross the street.

Upon entering the restaurant, Sam stands up and waves them down, bringing them to a table tucked away in the back corner. Steve takes an immediate liking to the place, it’s 40’s style ambiance lending itself well to volume levels and coziness.

“Want to introduce us, Stevie?” Bucky asks, smiling crookedly at Steve.

“Oh yeah,” Steve says, shaking himself. “Sam, this is Bucky and Clint. They’re the lovely gentlemen who broke into my house.”

“Hey,” Sam greets, holding out his hand. “Thanks for getting Steve here out of trouble. It’s nice to not have to do it for once.”

“Watch it,” Steve warns.

“You find yourself in trouble a lot?” Clint asks.

Sam smiles. “Take a seat. Have a drink. I’ll tell you _everything_.”

“Oh no,” Steve groans, sliding into one of the chairs. A large tumbler, overflowing with foam greets him and he takes a long sip. He looks over at Bucky who has taken the seat next to him. Bucky’s eyes trail down to Steve’s throat where his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“I’d love to hear anything you’ve got,” Bucky says, not taking his eyes off of Steve, who gives a small smile.

“Well, settle in. It’s gonna be a _looooong_ night.”

The four men sit and chat and eat amazing burgers as if they’d done so all their lives. Bucky and Clint fit perfectly into the dynamic that Steve and Sam shared, bringing out the goofy in Steve and the jokes in Sam. Clint and Sam bond over their joint love for birds, and Steve (and probably Bucky) is relieved that he’d no longer have to hear long rants about some fowl or another.

“Those burgers were amazing,” Sam says, pushing his plate away. “What do they put in them?”

“I have no idea, but it’s good that this place doesn’t deliver, or else Bucky and I would get so fat.”

“You’re across the street,” Steve notes.

“Yeah, but we’re not usually allowed to leave the premises,” Clint answers. Steve nods in understanding.

“We should probably let you get back,” Sam says, flagging down the waitress for the check.

“You’re probably right,” Bucky replies, sounding disappointed. “This was so much more fun than playing cards in our kitchen.”

They pay and leave the restaurant, falling into a slightly awkward silence.

“Give us a call if you ever get locked out again,” Clint says, taking a step towards the street.

“Thanks again for breaking in,” Steve replies, holding out his keys. “I’ve got ‘em now.”

Steve looks to Bucky who stares back with his piercing grey eyes. Steve feels his body flush, and his cheeks redden. “Nice meeting you, Steve,” Bucky says, his voice rumbling through Steve.

“Yeah, you too,” Steve manages to say.

With a smile, Bucky and Clint cross the street and disappear into the fire house.

“What was that?!” Sam cries when the firemen are out of sight.

“Nothing,” Steve replies defensively.

“Nuh uh, he was totally making eyes at you!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sam. I’m heading home, you coming?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll walk you part way and then head back.”

They walk in silence, catching up since they saw each other the day before. Sam breaks away from Steve at the corner of his street, and Steve trudges another few blocks to where he apartment lays nestled in a cozy neighborhood.

As he unlocks his apartment and picks up his mail, Steve ruminates over the way Bucky looked at him and made him feel. Steve feels his fingers twitching to get on a piece of charcoal to capture Bucky’s soulful eyes and sinful body. He kicks off his shoes and undresses as he makes his way to the shower. He turns the water on and lets it run over his skin in tight rivulets, making patterns that are unpredictable and beautiful. Just like life.

He stands under the steamy spray and his mind is buzzes with thoughts, feelings, and images of Bucky. Never in his life had he had someone swoop into his life and turn it upside down. Steve finds himself just wanting to be with Bucky and see a movie, go to a park, stay in bed all day watching Netflix, getting takeout, going on a walk, the possibilities are endless. He remembers the way Bucky’s eyes would darken when they met Steve’s. How his skin burned when Bucky accidentally brushed against him at the restaurant when he reached for the ketchup or his water. How he shivered when Bucky spoke low and quietly into his ear, suggesting the possibility of future activities involving a fireman pole.

His cock swells with the memories of Bucky’s bright eyes and shaggy hair. He imagines the feeling of Bucky’s calloused hands tracing over his delicate features, lavishing each rib, each jut of bone. Steve’s not one to be outwardly proud of his body, but he learned to love himself and the way his skin pulls taut over his bones and how his body can make beautiful shapes when played correctly.

With a practiced hand, Steve strokes his cock, twisting his wrist when he reaches the head. It’s quick and dirty, and just what he needs. Within minutes, he’s coming, leaving hot stripes of semen to wash away moments later.

He rests his hand on his forearm catching his breath. Sluggishly, he washes his body and conditions his hair. He shuts the water off and dries himself. Exhausted, he stumbles into bed and is asleep within minutes.

*

Life goes on for Steve and Bucky. They see each other nearly every day, whether it’s Steve swinging by the station to bring coffee for the crew, or Bucky coming over late at night and curling himself around Steve like a giant teddy bear. They still managed to have their own lives, Steve going out with Sam or his school buddies and Bucky enjoying poker night with the squad, but they were better when they were together.

Summer turns to Fall, and the leaves become vibrant colors. Steve is rarely seen without a sketch book and a few choice colored pencils. Bucky is ridiculously obsessed with anything pumpkin flavored, and drinks more pumpkin spice lattes than Steve thought possible.

Winter blusters in, the weather holding at a comfortable 60-70 degrees with a few weeks of frigid temperatures. The snow starts in January and doesn’t let up until March. The city starts with a beautiful white blanket and ends with brown slush that has been packed into many layers of ice that might not melt until the next July.

Spring brings flowers and showers, the winter snow slowly melting away. Curbs bloom like the flowers, peeking their heads out before becoming completely visible again. The joys of light jackets and warm breezes lift the spirits of people who had spent an entire winter in grey skies and below freezing temperatures.

It’s almost exactly a year since Bucky came to break into Steve’s house. The weather is hot and sticky again, and most people have left the city for the comforts of upstate New York or relatives who live in cooler places. The year held its trials and tribulations, like the time Bucky almost died in a fire and had burns on his left arm and chest, or like the time Steve nearly worked himself to death over a project that had no real consequence if it wasn’t completed on time. They fought like any other couple would, about stupid things, like when it was considered dark (was it when there’s no more light, or when half the sky is dark?) or whether sand was an appropriate thing to have on this earth (but it’s warm, Stevie…but it gets fucking everywhere, Buck), and about more substantial things, like Bucky wanting Steve to move in with him, but Steve didn’t want to give up his beautiful apartment, or when Steve wanted to take on another few courses so he could finish early and pay less tuition.

But the day after Steve’s birthday, on the anniversary of their first meeting, they put everything and everyone aside, and just enjoyed each other’s company.

*

“Bucky?” Steve asks, stepping into the dark firehouse. It looks completely different than all the other times he had been there. The lights are off and the fire trucks loom in the dim night.

“Hey Stevie,” Bucky replies, his voice low and sultry.

“Why are all the lights off? And where is everyone?”

“I got Clint to distract Coulson. We have the place to ourselves for just over an hour.”

“That’s quite a feat, love,” Steve says, sounding impressed.

“Come here, I have something to show you.”

Steve takes another few steps into the firehouse. He sees a solitary chair sitting across from their pole, which is illuminated from the light on the upper floor.

“Bucky…”

“Shh, you’re gonna love this. Have a seat.”

With uncertain movements, Steve lowers himself into the chair and glances around apprehensively.

A low, sensual song comes on through the speakers, and Bucky struts from the dimness of the station to the circle of light under the pole. He’s got a fire hat sitting jauntily on his head and his thick pants are undone at the fly. Steve’s brought back to the first time he ever met Bucky on that hot Summer day, also with his pants undone at the fly. Steve feels his body warm at the sight of Bucky’s bare abs, rippling under his suspenders.

Steve tries not to outright laugh at the scene in front of him. Never in a million years would he have imagined himself sitting in an actually fire station with an actual fire fighter about to do a pole dance for him.

The bass thrums through Steve’s skinny chest as he watches Bucky grab the pole and swing himself around it. Eyes closed and bright red lips opened just enough to be utterly infuriating, Bucky moves with the music, using the pole as his partner. He ungulates and rolls against it, making obscene faces that get Steve beading sweat at his temples.

Bucky’s complete confidence and swagger almost distract Steve enough from how Bucky seems to be just a beat off from the music, and just a little too forceful with his movements. Aside from being surprisingly turned on, Steve has to stuff his fist in his mouth to keep his laughter in check. He doesn’t realize how bad it is until Bucky opens his eyes and stares right at Steve.

“Is it really that bad?” Bucky asks, grinning.

“N-No,” Steve squeaks, his shoulders betraying him.

“You’re red as a tomato and look like you’re gonna pop a blood vessel. Why don’t you show me, if you think you’re so good then.”

A shudder rolls through Steve. He hasn’t danced in front of anyone since college. But that’s not to say that he’s not absolutely mesmerizing.

“Are you sure?” he goads, lifting himself from his chair.

Bucky gives a little bow and points his hand to the pole waiting in the spotlight. “Have at it, Stevie.”

Steve gets up and walks over to the pole, circling in a few times, pulling on it, feeling it take his weight. Bucky watches in silence, his blue eyes glued to Steve.

A new song starts, and Steve feels the beat flow through him. He starts swaying back and forth, getting a feel for the rhythm. He gets more comfortable, getting back into the headspace he was in when he used to do this more regularly. His hands caress his body, accentuating his hard curves and trim waist. With a practiced move, he gives a little run and hop to catch himself on the pole, swinging around it. His legs splay as he uses his upper arms to carry him in a slow circle.

He loses himself in the music, pulling out old tricks he wasn’t sure he would even be able to do. He feels his heart beating in time with the low bass, heat flooding through his blood, igniting every nerve, every pore. He feels more alive than he has in a long time, reminding him why he used to love performing.

The song comes to an end, and Steve opens his eyes to see Bucky staring with his mouth wide open.

“So?” he asks, swiping his hand across his sweaty forehead. “How was that?”

Without a word, Bucky surges from his chair and nearly pounces on Steve. His back knocks against the cooling pole as Bucky invades his personal space. Steve can see the passion flowing from Bucky’s very being. They stare at each other for an elongated second, just drinking the other in, their eyes hungry and their bodies desperate.

After what could not have been more than a minute, but felt like a lifetime, Bucky presses his lips against Steve’s, their bodies molding together like they were always meant to be. The kiss is hot and rough, and just what Steve loves. He swipes his tongue along Bucky’s lips, garnering a low moan from the fire fighter. Their tongues battle in a clash of teeth, hands flying across planes of sweaty muscle and skin.

Steve whimpers as Bucky pulls away, kissing and sucking along his jawline and neck. He nips at where Steve’s pulse is flying, laving the marks with his tongue. Steve bucks his hips as Bucky licks around the shell of his ear.

“Bucky…” he moans, throwing his head back. There’s a muffled response before Steve feels large hands under his ass. He’s lifted in the air, back against the now slick pole. Bucky suspends Steve, never stopping his ministrations. With their new position, Steve can feel every line of Bucky’s hard cock, enjoying how it brushes against his own hardness at every small movement.

As Bucky returns his lips to Steve, the smaller man lets out a keening whine, grasping at Bucky’s hair and pushing his hips even closer.

“Mm… _fuck_ ,” Bucky mumbles as Steve twists his hips. He pulls away from Steve to tip his head back, and Steve takes the opportunity to place his own attack on Bucky’s exposed neck.

No longer supported by the pole, Steve is completely wrapped around Bucky, moving his whole body to get the most sensation.

“There’s a bed upstairs,” Steve breathes, nipping at Bucky’s earlobe.

“Too far…” Bucky moans, tangling on hand into Steve’s hair and the other under his ass for support.

Steve pulls away for just a moment to stare at Bucky with glassy eyes. “There’s a fire truck…” he ventures.

“Fuck, Stevie you’re so hot,” Bucky replies, staring at the ceiling to regain his bearings. “But I don’t think any of the squad would forgive me if I fucked in our truck.”

“What about a blowjob?” Steve asks, punctuating his words with kisses.

“That I might be able to get on board with.”

“And some rimming?” Steve continues.

“Oh, see now you pushed it too far,” Bucky jokes. With the hand that’s cupping Steve’s ass, he presses his middle finger against where he believes to be Steve’s asshole.

“Is that a no?”

“Just get your ass in that truck, Stevie,” Bucky says, dropping Steve and pulling him to Engine No. 9.

Bucky yanks the door open and with forceful hands, Steve flips Bucky and bends him over the passenger seat. Bucky hisses as the cold leather hits his bare stomach, his nipples pebbling at the sudden sensation. Bucky only moan when he feels Steve pull his pants down and palm his ass cheeks, squeezing.

“So beautiful,” Steve whispers, kissing along Bucky’s lower back.

“Please Stevie,” Bucky begs, his legs quaking.

Steve grins and spreads Bucky so his puckered hole is showing. With a practiced tongue, Steve dives in, licking long lines from Bucky’s perineum to the small of his back, flattening his tongue over Bucky’s hole.

He laps at the tight ring of muscle, feeling it quiver under him. He pulls away and spits lighting at it, capturing the wetness and pushing it into Bucky’s body. He thrusts his tongue into Bucky’s tight hole, curling his tongue on the outstroke, pulling ever so slightly on the relaxing muscle.

“Oh god, Stevie…’s so good,” Bucky babbles, his hands grasping at anything.

“Mmm,” Steve responds, the vibrations going straight to Bucky’s leaking cock.

Steve spreads Bucky enough so he can gently nip at Bucky’s sensitive hole, nearly making Bucky come.

“Holy _fuck_ , do that again,” Bucky demands, his hands still scrabbling for purchase. Steve nips once, twice, thrice more before giving gentle laps to soothe the skin.

“Turn over, Bucky,” Steve says, pulling away. Bucky hisses as the cooler air reaches his ass, but flips over, so his feet are on the ground and he’s leaning against the passenger seat. Bucky pulls Steve in for a kiss, and it makes Bucky even more turned on to know where Steve’s tongue at last been.

Steve tears himself from the kiss and sinks down onto his knees, where he’s eyelevel with Bucky’s straining cock. He wraps his hand around it, getting a feel for it. He traces the raised veins, and smears some of the precome over the tip. Bucky can’t keep his hips still, jerking erratically as Steve teases him.

“What a beautiful cock,” Steve croons, brushing it against his cheek, staring at Bucky through thick lashes. “So thick and long…”

In one go, Steve swallows all of Bucky’s length, the tip hitting and sliding down the back of Steve’s throat. His lips stretch to cover Bucky’s girth as he pulls back slowly.

“Shit,” Bucky pants as he feels the tip of his cock drag over the back of Steve’s throat. “Where the fuck did you learn that?”

Steve only grins and places a finger in his mouth, wetting it with saliva. He once again swallows Bucky’s cock, this time reaching behind to press a slick finger against Bucky’s pliant hole. Breaching the first ring of muscle, Bucky’s ass takes Steve’s finger wonderfully. He gently thrusts in and out in time with bobbing his head over Bucky’s cock. He pulls back so only the tip is in his mouth, his tongue drawing shapes over the slit, where now a steady stream of precome dribbles onto Steve’s tongue.

“’M not gonna last long,” Bucky gasps, his hips twitching unable to decide whether to be closer to Steve’s mouth or his deft fingers.

“Whenever you want, baby,” Steve replies, the tip of Bucky’s cock still in his mouth. He strokes the velvety walls of Bucky’s hole, searching.

With a shout, Bucky bends like a bow, taut against the seat, his hands gripping Steve’s hair. At the first taste of come, Steve buries his nose in the dark curls of Bucky’s pubic hair, swallowing all that Bucky has to give.

With shaking hands, Bucky pulls his softening cock out of Steve’s mouth, catching a dribble of come that had leaked from the corner of Steve’s lips.

“Holy fucking shit, Stevie, that was by far the _best_ blowjob I have ever received.”

Steve rolls back on his heels, grinning up at Bucky. Bucky tucks a hand under Steve’s outstretched chin and pulls him up for a searing kiss. Steve’s aching cock brushes against Bucky’s stomach, reminding him of how painfully hard he is.

“Now you,” Bucky murmurs, snaking his hand down to Steve’s fly.

With a flick of his fingers, Steve’s button is undone and his zipper is down. Bucky’s warm hand encircles his cock, which throbs with each heartbeat.

Bucky collects the precome leaking from Steve’s slit and pumps his hand steadily from base to tip, twisting his wrist around the head. Steve closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Bucky’s sweaty shoulder. He grasps at Bucky’s hair, trying to keep his hips still.

“Oh god, Buck…” he moans, kissing at Bucky’s neck. Bucky’s hands don’t quicken, his other hand pinching and rolling Steve’s pert nipples.

“More,” he begs, squeezing his eyes shut.

Bucky takes his hand off Steve’s cock so he can spit into it, giving some lubrication so Steve won’t chafe. The smaller man almost comes when the slick slide of Bucky’s hand runs over the head.

“Come now, Stevie,” Bucky orders, his breath hot on Steve’s ear. It doesn’t take any more for Steve to gasp and spurt hot ribbons of come into his underwear. His orgasm washes over him, and Bucky guides him through it, never stopping the steady pace of his hand.

Steve huffs out air when Bucky tugs one last time before removing his dirtied hand.

“Well that was fun,” Bucky says, pulling Steve in closer.

“I’ll say,” Steve agrees. “That was fucking awesome.”

Steve kisses Bucky tenderly, completely different than their fevered kisses from before.

“And where the hell did you learn to pole dance?”

Steve shrugs. “College. Had to take an athletic credit, but sports aren’t really my thing. Apparently pole dancing wasn’t too hard on my heart or asthma, so I did it for a few terms. Got a job at a joint, and kinda went from there. Hadn’t done it in a while, though, so that was neat.”

“You are so amazing,” Bucky says, kissing Steve once more. “Now let’s get cleaned up. My hand is starting to dry and I don’t have anything to wipe it on. Not to mention how fucking debauched you look.”

Steve throws his head back in laughter, and helps Bucky get his pants back on before making their way to the bathroom.

*

“I gotta go,” Steve says, hours later, as they’re curled up on the small cot in the bedroom. “Come by when you’re done with your shift.”

He swings his legs out of bed and starts to put on his shoes. Bucky rolls over so Steve’s back is nestled in Bucky’s curled body.

“Have I told you how fucking glad I am that you locked yourself out that day?” Bucky says, his voice quiet.

Steve looks down at Bucky’s beautiful face and pushes a strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear. “I think you’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

“Well I’d like to mention it for a long time, Steven Grant Rogers.”

“Is that a proposal?” Steve asks, stroking Bucky’s cheek.

“Call it a promise,” Bucky replies, turning his head to kiss Steve’s hand.

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this story on and off since the summer and was inspired by real life events. 
> 
> I did indeed get locked out on 4th of July weekend. My mother has hearing aids. She went all around Yosemite to find batteries only to find them in the Ansel Adams museum. She bought the firefighters Dunkin's. I'm in a Master's program. I write for an imagine blog. And that's where the similarities stop.


End file.
